Lemons

 

I am not a purse girl.

I’m not a shoe girl either, or for that matter even a clothes girl. That’s not to say I walk around unclothed all the time – that would be weird, unless I was part of a nudist colony. Then it would be perfectly normal. But I’m not. I’m just not that into fashion. It requires too much thought and decision making.

I like lemons.

I like the way they look, the way they smell, and the way they taste. Lemons are a very attractive looking fruit. I can’t help but smile when I see one – the shape, the color, the vibrance, and they are easy to spot at the grocery store, which makes shopping for them very efficient. 

I like efficiency.  

Last year, I was gifted a purse from one of my students. It is in the shape of a lemon – well, a lemon wedge, so you can actually see the inside sections of the lemon, as well as the outer peel. It is very whimsical, and I like whimsical. But I thought to myself, I will never use this. 

Because I’m not a purse girl.

But one summer day, I decided that purse was the perfect size to hold the only three things I needed to carry: my phone, my keys, my lip moisturizer. So, I brought it along with me. And everywhere I went, people would comment on it. Everyone LOVED the lemon purse. Summer came and went, and I stored the lemon purse in the basket with all the other barely used purses that I own.

The following summer, I had lunch with one of my friends and co-workers, who had also been gifted the lemon purse. She had hers with her.

“The lemon purse!” I exclaimed. I had forgotten all about it.

When I went home, I dug my lemon purse out of the basket. I hung it on a hook where I hang all the things that I don’t want to forget about, and I started bringing my lemon purse with me. And everywhere I went, people commented on my lemon purse. One lady very passionately stated, “Lemons just make you happy".  She went on to explain that she had decorated her entire laundry room in lemons so that she would feel happier while doing something she was not happy about.

Later that same day, I was using lemons to make a chicken marinade for dinner. First, I zested them, scraping the peel against the long, rectangular shaped grater. Then, I squeezed them - the fresh, yellow juice pouring out of the perfectly ripened fruit, into the little holes, as I pressed the two metal handles of the juicer together. I have practiced this activity many, many times, over the years, but for some reason this time was even more satisfying.

It must be that lemon purse, I thought. Lemons do make you happy.

And the chicken, which had been soaking in that lemon juice (and accompaniments), was delicious, by the way.    

 

 

 

 

 

Morning Dance (of a teacher, during summertime)

The sun wakes the front of the house first, making it too hot to sit on the otherwise perfectly situated Adirondak chairs. While the sun still sits low, the backyard benefits from the shade of the house, so the four-person patio table - purchased at a second-hand shop, spray painted over at least twice (and needs a third), recently spruced up by brightly colored new seat cushions - is ideal.

The problem is the pergola.

The kitchen window that looks out over the back patio has a beautiful pergola sitting above. Birds love to sit atop that pergola – it’s the perfect perch. But it is not uncommon to come out to the table first thing in the morning, balancing my iced-coffee, protein bar, book, phone and laptop, and discover bird droppings where I normally plant my items.

This morning was one of those times.  

No biggy, I thought. I actually welcomed the idea of placing my items in a new spot, creating a slightly different point of view. 

As I sat down, however, I was immediately reminded that it had rained the night before. While the grass out in the sun covered field had been mostly dry when walking the dogs earlier, the shade covered patio cushions were not. 

It might not be too bad in the sun today, I thought. Those storms had brought with them some pleasantly cooler air.  

So, I gathered all my items – my iced coffee, protein bar, book, phone and laptop, and moved to the Adirondack chairs on the front porch. My eyes squinted from the brightness of the sun. It felt warm, but not the uncomfortably hot feeling like the previous days.

I settled in and began to read the next chapter in my book. I was wearing my morning uniform – white tank top with black workout pants, always with the intention of working out later in the morning. While the pants are light and breathable, they are still black, and the sun soon began to soak through them, making my legs feel uncomfortably hot.

I am going to at least finish this chapter, I told myself.

Then, I realized – Ha! I can just take the cushion off the chair. Up until a few days ago, we weren’t even using cushions on those chairs, and they worked perfectly fine without. So, I gathered my iced coffee, protein bar wrapper (I had eaten the bar), book, phone and laptop, and moved back to the patio. I situated my items on the part of the table that had not been visited by birds, lifted the damp cushion off the chair, and situated myself. 

Then I realized I needed to visit the bathroom. 

And so it goes - my morning dance in the summertime.  

 

The Wonderment of Shapes

 

What would you call that shape?

Like a diamond, but softer and more rounded on the sides. Like a raindrop, but more pointed on the bottom. 

And how did someone come up with a raindrop shape? You can’t catch one on your finger or in a jar before it becomes a tiny puddle.

Eyes.

If you look at these shapes from a different direction, they become eyes. Squinty eyes. How an artist might sketch them on a page. The entire patio table is covered with squinty eyes.

My iced-coffee-filled mason jar (less full than empty), sits atop the squinty eyed, wrought iron patio table. It is early still, so even though it is expected to be another uncomfortably hot day, it is still shaded and pleasant enough on the patio.

My mason jar says otherwise.

There are beads of sweat forming on all sides before scaling down to the bottom of the glass, just barely holding on before slipping into the squinty eyed shapes in the table. Like "holding back the tears", the water clings there, and the eyes do not blink, but gravity pulls the water down - ahhh, I see. Of course! - into this teardrop or raindrop-like shape, until it falls onto the surface of the patio.

A tiny drip, magnifying the gray/brown colors of the patio stone beneath.